


Roll The Dice

by Graygreenprince



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Humanstuck, M/M, but not really?? idk, future smut to come, potential slow burn, these arent tumblr tags what am i doing, to come haha get it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-23 12:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10719591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graygreenprince/pseuds/Graygreenprince
Summary: Featuring two incredibly awkward men in an incredibly self indulgent domestic setting. A birthday gift for a good friend!!! I hope you like it!





	1. Laundering Looks

**Author's Note:**

> I legit haven't wrote in like, over a year, this will be the first time putting something out. I'm still getting a feel for things writer, editing, and format wise. I'll try and refine in the future.

It wasn’t difficult to tell, even upon first encounters, that the man known as Jake English wasn’t just another new face one could simply pass without taking a second glance. Sure, Dirk had seen a lot of people in this city, in this street, even in just this apartment building. He was used to the sheer density of people by now, enough to feel he had seen it all. Ones moving in and out, young adults’ fresh out of college, half a family ripe from divorce, and people who had been there so long the names on their doors had faded- those ones usually kept to themselves. And Dirk was one of them. He wasn’t a stranger to apartment life, no one that was born and raised that deep in the city was. His social goal when he started living by himself was a simple one. Don’t make any enemies. Know enough names, get to know the landlord just well enough if rent was a bit tricky, don’t make too much sound after sunset, and for the love of god, don’t forget your laundry in the washing machine all day.

Hell, Dirk learned to put a timer on his shit. In the first month of living there he would carelessly forget his things there for all too long, sometimes returning to it plopped in a wet pile next to the machine, left there by impatient people in need of a freed up machine. Or in the best case scenario, smelling lightly of mold from having been left to stew in water the entire day. Fairly certain he’d had a shirt or two nabbed in what could only be called a dick move. A draw back in the odd limbo of mandatory human interaction in what he hoped to be a building full of fairly reasonable tax paying adults (and potentially their families) sharing a handful of machines. Rationality. One of his more hopeful fantasies.

He learned that in and out was his best bet. Be aloof, respond to greetings and polite conversation as to not come across as hostile, and be about his day like a fairly normal, fairly reasonable adult would. It wasn’t that hard to get into a rhythm. And he was prepared to do so again now, feet padding along the last few concrete steps that lead down to the basement level of the building. Cool air mercifully waiting for him just below ground level. Go down every Thursday and, say, repeat the cycle. Thursday was a good day to meet the challenge of rivaling for space.

Which, as fate or a humid day would have it, was where he met the man who had just moved into the very same building. While it was completely expected to see another person down in the laundry room, especially after a short series of all too hot days, he had to double take at a new presence. A person he hadn’t catalogued away in his mind yet, something that caught his eye at the newness.

And a few other things.

Dirk’s first impression of this stranger was that of a striking silhouette, standing out against the dulled greys and machinery of the room. Back just broad enough to tease at a narrow waist, bare as it faced Dirk. The blond man walked into the laundry room made of cool concrete and metal lines that looked all to dull compared to that of this man’s curved thighs and warm skin tone. Impressive squared shoulders and jaw line adding on to it all, both of which Dirk caught more of as he progressed into the room. He was standing to a washing machine as a deeply tanned arm clutched a basket that he kept propped to his hip, casually looking over what Dirk could guess was a bottle of detergent. Something Dirk confirmed as he slowly made his way around the man, body set in no real direction as his eyes lingered. His gaze flickered down again, catching a bright yellow symbol laid across his backside, boldly displaying an iconic comic book symbol and curves of his ass in those micro shorts.

This stranger was just. You know, casual, as if he weren’t shirtless in the middle of the room. Which, granted, wasn’t all that odd in itself. It was the laundry room after all, and social norms were incredibly lax on their shared gender. He regularly ran into an old Slavic man that lived in the building down in the laundry room, and sparsely saw him with anything covering the age stretched skin of his upper body. A habit from the old country, probably, and not one Dirk would go out of his way to correct when he had his own business to mind. But Old Man Polvo came with a pair of pants pulled half way up his waist, ones he could bet came straight from a village in Ukraine or something.

Not this guy right here, no. His ever so lax posture and loose hips came clad in in a pair of Batman pajama short shorts that Dirk was fairly sure was originally intended to be worn by the fairer sex. Yet here he was, pulling off the shorts better than he had seen on any lady he’d ever bothered glancing at. It wasn’t very hard for Dirk’s eyes to fall lower from there, seeing as just at the bottom of his thighs began a matching set of knee socks with an eye catching yellow band at the top. Socks that hugged around calves just as shapely as the rest of him. A Batman symbol stretched across the back of those, too, and even a pop of yellow at the heel of the socks.

And then started the long way peering up his body for the second time around.

Truly it was a sight to behold, seeing that all other trace of spatial awareness had been thrown out the window. In processed the appearance of eye candy supreme, from thick dark hair to curvy legs, Dirk had completely forgotten of the presence of the row of dryers, in fact he couldn’t really recall much of where he was or his own name until he banged his hip right into the hard corner of one of the dryers.

Dirk doubled over as the blunt pain in his hip, the hallow machine letting out a loud clang as the unexpected impact dropped Dirk’s basket from his hands and against the dryer, ringing it through the concrete room. An unforgiving call back to reality.

“Fuck-“ Dirk cursed, fumbling to catch the basket before it tipped over, the rest of his senses still trying to pull themselves back in order after being captivated. He made a grab for the handle before it could spill over, not wanting to risk his underwear or bottle of detergent toppling out across the floor, especially consider who was sharing the space with him.

It was an awkward shuffle of limbs. The next blow to his ego and his body came when Dirk tried to make a grab with his left arm, banging his elbow on the edge of the dryer that already left a dent in his hip. “Fuck!” His other arm was left to pick up the slack. The half of his body not banged up by a dryer turned to the open space of the laundry room, doing what it could to pin the basket against the same cursed appliance. It was the only mercy he was given in that moment, just barely able to hold the boxy plastic up against the machine before his shit tilted and went tumbling out. “Jesus god,” Dirk shuffled so his foot wasn’t on the other side of the corner, only to bang his foot on it because he was too distracted attempting carefully lowering the basket to the floor. Careful was the wishful word here. He dropped it when he finally had the bottom parallel to the floor, trusting it wouldn’t go toppling over. Or hoping, because now he didn’t know what to trust. Miraculously, it stood, everything in order save for some pant legs that unfolded and hung off the side.

He was usually someone that considered himself good at multitasking, but this bullshit right here, that took a chunk of his confidence and disposed it right in the dryer. Three for three, dryer won that round, but it seemed things weren’t quite over yet.

“I say!” Dirk’s heart jump when he heard who he’d been ogling speak, the stupidly attractive man’s voice holding an appropriately charming accent. A sound he preferred over the clank and swift destruction of any credibility he had in considering himself a graceful man, none the less. Even when it came with the territory of confronting his blatant staring.

“A right banger, my word. Are you quite alright there, sir?” Mister curvy, handsome, Dark Knight himself.

“What? Ah, yeah, yeah, I’m good, man, uh,” Dirk gathered himself and his basket at once, one obviously more put together than the other. The disheveled man plopping the basket on top of the dryer then looked over his shoulder, hands fumbling blindly to tuck a pant leg back into the basket. “I’m just.” He took his hand from his clothes and slapped it down right on the dryer, turning to face the man that he was certain could stop traffic in those shorts. “I’m cool.”

Fuck.

There he stood, now with the front half to serve as his focus point. Something that, unsurprisingly, wasn’t anything to scoff at. He gave Dirk a good natured laugh that featured a brilliant smile, one that he was sure meant nothing but could still serve as a little jab to his frazzled ego. “Are you sure?” Teasing green eyes looked at Dirk from behind a pair of glasses. Green. Of course he had green eyes. Just who the fuck was this guy and what gave him the right to show up half dressed like this.

Dirk huffed lightly from his nose, “Yeah, double meaning on that one, both of which can’t be particularly applicable to myself.” He said, knowing that now he had to just accept his fate of being That Guy who got fucked up by a dryer. Not everyone could be the laundry room heart throb.

“Just a long day. Woke up from a nap, no post-nap clothes to change into.” Jesus that’s what he was going with. This guy was well in his right to assumed Dirk was either half brain dead or whole stupid. “I figured I shouldn’t go the rest of the week wearing the hand me downs of the man I was before it. Times are changing, I’m evolving.” He said giving a little shrug to punctuate.

“Egad, what a confounded way of saying you slept on your lunch.” Captain Booty shorts said, snorting a laugh. He set the bottle on the washer and basket down next to his feet, facing Dirk and sitting himself up on the edge of the washing machine as he did, open to conversation and to swing feet clad in black knee socks. At least he found Dirk funny, even if he was the joke.

“Psh. Who summarizes these days.” Dirk scratched the back of his neck lightly, playing with a few hairs on the nape of his neck to distract his nerves. So far so good, he figured. No suspicious words or uncomfortable glances. Had he not noticed Dirk until he up and made a fuck ton of sound? Maybe whatever he was skimming on that bottle just saved Dirk’s life from that much more embarrassment.

“Well why don’t you cook me up on some long winded word stew. Who is this eccentric stranger racketing up the dryer?” A black brow quirked up his forehead, his teeth poking through as he tossed Dirk a smile.

“Eccentric stranger, he says.” Dirk took his hand from the back of his neck and gestured to his attire- or lack thereof. “What? Bat-Suit getting dry cleaned or something? You know, maybe it should be designed around humble living. Think the Joker’s lipstick stains?” Dirk shot back, consciously or subconsciously rotating the subject to what had been such a road hazard to Dirk moments early. Because _that_ would do him good. Freud would’ve had a field day.

“Good sir! Are you under implication that I rodgered the Joker?” a hand went to his perfectly shaped chest, clutching unseen pearls in offense. “He has not a lick of business getting that grin anywhere else but these batty gloves! Leave lipstick marks on a knuckle sandwich why doesn’t he? Hey, Bobo! I think you forgot your side order there!” He did a little bob and weave, hitting the air with a left hook in what could only be a finger food analogy. “Lipstick marks. Psh, why I never. He won’t be honking this horn any time soon, wise guy.”

It took Dirk a moment to digest all that.

He blinked from behind his shades, watching as he got a scolded by an offended gorgeous stranger, appalled by even the suggestion he was fuck buddies with the Joker.

“I don’t know, man, Lego Batman got me side eyeing a few things.” Dirk decided he’d keep played into it, waving his hands dismissively. “But hey, if you’re on the down low, I’ll respect that, I know I wouldn’t proudly detail to the guys the squitter jokes he’d make, gag flower or otherwise.”

It looked like he was about to go off on another monologue fueled by the sheer scandal of the suggestion, but Dirk watched as the false sternness in Booty Shorts Batman cracked into a smile. The accent laugh he earned this time was less at his expense, and Dirk could only be thankful for that.

“Honestly, I don’t know what else I could’ve expected from the man that came in here, tussled with a dryer, then went on to imply some sort of epiphany and the symbolic need for change- if that was even what you were rambling on about. All I do know, mind you, is that I’m not in cahoots with the man clown, intimately or otherwise, and I’ve yet to hear a name from you that I could tack on to your person.

“If you’re waiting for me to go first then by no means do I mind at all. It’s English, Jake English.” Jake said, hopping down from the washer. He lessened the space between him and Dirk, hand outstretched and ready to shake. “I’m new in this side of town. Or even of the ocean, rather.” He greeted, glancing down at Dirk’s hand when it came up to meet Jake’s own.

“Well, English Jake English,” Dirk joked, returning a swift hand shake. He very much appreciated the fact Jake didn’t try to crush his hand. Bonus points for that guy. “Dirk Strider. And yeah, I figured you were new around these parts. Think I would’ve definitely remembered you. If not for the Batgirl shorts then for saying egad out right like that.” Dirk said, seeing just how shorter Jake was compared to himself this up close. Half a head at least. He looked down to keep the eye contact, hand slipping from Jake’s and into his pocket before it became weird. Don’t make it weird, Dirk, don’t make it weird.

“Would I be right to assume that the other side of the ocean was more of a pond for you?” Dirk asked, feeling more casual as he leaned against the dryer, miraculously not bruising himself in the process.

“If this latest implication suggestions I’m from England then, surprisingly, no.” He raised a hand as if to stop Dirk’s assumption before it could get any further. “I know, the name, it gets everybody! But hear me out.” Jake pointed at Dirk, emphasizing his next word with a wave of his finger. “Hawaii.”

“Hawaii, huh?”

“Yes, the state, a string of islands out west? Lovely place, believe me, couldn’t imagine a better abode to have called home.” He said, stepping back to lean against the whirring washer once again. Dirk wondered how long he’d been lingering here, trying to feel out his own rhythm, his own game plan in the small break from the heat that stuck to a person’s skin and lungs, to make off with a replenished supply of clean clothes. Despite going pre-diabetic from the over consumption of eye candy in front of him, it was plain obvious of how out of place he was so casually stripped down.

“You know, many people consider that the end all be all of places to run off to. Pretty sure it’s just some idealization of a forever vacation in this capitalist America. But even without the rose tint to these shades, nothing obvious is coming to mind as to what brings you to the middle of Controversy Texas.” Dirk pondered, peeling away at this pin up poster of a man. He almost felt like asking if he was a model of some kind, but held back from that slippery slope.

“Well my good man,” Jake started, “The end all be all sounds uncanny to retirement. The thing that young, strapping men with the eyes in their horizon don’t do. I’ve still got roughly, what, 50 good years in me before I feel the urge to escape the winds of the world? I’ll find a nice island to settle the golden years on then. And if all goes well I’ll arrive boldly on a yacht, or whatever luxury oceanic vehicle the future will hold for once were adventurous men.” Jake rambled, completely and astonishingly missing the point of Dirk’s question.

“But until those several decades pass?” Dirk prompted, trying to circle it back to the matter at hand. The man with his head in the clouds seemed to have found the trail back to the subject with a little probing.

“Ah, Right, until I get the call of the wild- I’ve found this place to be quite charming. I’ve _actually_ stayed with a cousin of mine not too far out the city for some time during my college days. First time roughing it on my own, here and now. Not to go without mention that it was a house in the suburb with its own washer and no blond men coming through getting boxed up by the appliances.” He laughed to himself, despite Dirk’s wishes of that little scene being lost to time. It was only a few minutes ago, so time wasn’t exactly on his side. Dirk frowned lightly rolling his shoulders in a shrug upon the reminder of the blunder.

“I bet I could take it in a rematch.” Dirk responded, bonking the dryer under his fist lightly. He figured he should actually do something with the pile of clothes he left on top of it. So he picked the basket back up and moved it to the other side of the room, making him a little closer to Jake. Jake leaned his elbow on the machine that whirred with his own clothes, spirited green eyes following Dirk as he came around.

“I have no doubt. Throw in your shades, turn it to quick dry and watch it bleed out as an artery is cut.” He said, being bold enough to give Dirk a little tap to the shoulder with his knuckle. “Oh, but I jest, I hope you know. Heck, I might even be present for the rematch with the rate I’m undertaking this. It’s unfair how similar those, uh, little gel things? The ones that you got to try and not pop like candy when putting in the dish washer? Yes, well, I very much feel inclined to write a strongly worded letter detailing how it twins the same capsules you have to throw in with your clothes.” He huffed, crossing his arms over himself as he looked down at the washer. “I’m glad it was you that came down and not the same women who caught me in here far too many times today trying to right my wrong. Tolerance of an angel, that one, lent me her bottle upon the telling of my tragic tale so it were not to happen again. I feel better knowing I’m not the only one making myself silly.” Jake’s eyebrows pressed down his forehead, picking the detergent he’d been turning over in his hands back up. “My stripes have faded and I’m going to walk around smelling of lavender and plates. That is my punishment. So please don’t feel too bad about losing a squabble with a dryer.” Jake set the bottle down with the same gruffness of a man who had just spent the past year in the same bar every night after a hard day’s work of fruitlessly stalking down the cities most wanted.

“Goddamn, man.” Dirk said, looking up as he stuffed his clothes in the washer through Jake’s telling, making use of it to free himself up from the responsibility. “I mean, not the worst thing to happen in here but definitely one that will waste half your day trying to bounce back from. It’ll be clean, though. You’ll smell like a goddamn fork, but it’ll be clean.”

“At least _your_ Batman shirt will stay in its prime state of color.” He gestured to the bright yellow Batman symbol that laid across Dirk’s chest. Dirk was indeed wearing his Batman tank, because at least sweat stains didn’t show up on black. “Good tastes, by the way! I got one just like it, made it a matching set.” He said, bringing attention back to his shorts, _the_ shorts that had started it all. Dirk’s heart jumped in his chest as Jake stretched out the yellow band of his short shorts while showing them off, expose another inch of barely covered skin. No tan lines on Jake, just smooth, dark skin through and through. Unlike Dirk, with the skin of his chest contrasting his arms and shoulders greatly, now barely covered by his Batman tank. Something he was sure Jake could see, but that he didn’t have the capacity to be insecure about at the moment.

Dirk had to peel his eyes back off his lower body for the second time that day when Jake started talking again, not wanting to make his rubbernecking even more blatant than he already had. “Came in here wearing the tank top, spilt the blessed women’s detergent down my front, and, in short, I’m down half an outfit.” Jake tried to laugh his own blunder off, either still in attempt to make Dirk feel better about the teasing or just the rambling he seemed perfectly well and capable of doing.

“I’d offer you a clean shirt if I had any. Pretty sure they sell these in Target, truth be told I just cut the sleeves off of mine. Don’t think I saw a tank in the men’s section at least. No Batman daisy dukes either, but hey, I think you’re the one winning here in beating the heat.” He poured the soap as needed in, setting the machine up to wash his in what would hopefully be the only time that day. Unless Jake rubbed off on him or something. Hell, he’d very nearly dropped it when Jake has tugged at the band of his shorts.

“Psh, oh hardy har, I’ll have you know at least my love of the dark knight himself can be broadcasted across my legs as well.” Jake said, sticking his leg out.

“So are you trying to be a walking Bat-signal or what? Quick, Chief, powers out, better send English Jake English running out across the roof and hope Batman catches a glimpse of his ass before the Jokers done robbing a bank.” Dirk meant to tease him a little but if he were in the position of the hero of Gotham himself it’d take a lot for him to not go up on that roof and ask if Jake had a kik.

“Aren’t you a funny man. And I would at least need a flag for that.” He shot back, as if it were clever.

“Do you think these scenarios out?”

“Do you not?”

Dirk opened his mouth to dispute it, but found he couldn’t really without being disingenuous. “…Alright, fair enough, you win this one. Scamper home and get a congratulatory kiss from your loving Joker wife.”

“Hah, well aren’t you just a barrel of witty replies and dry sarcasm.” Jake rolled his eyes in a way that held the same energy as his banter, going to bend down in front of the washer as it chimed. Dirk’s eyes lingered down his body, watching his legs flex as he squatted. Jesus, Dirk was surprised he was still able to talk.

“Got me all figured out, huh?” He figured it would be a good idea to put his own bottles back in his basket, thankful it didn’t crack when in the fight against the dryer. His hand stopped at the dryer sheets, holding it up and shaking it a little when Jake came back up from the washer, plopping his wet clothes into a bright green hamper. “So if your track record speaks for you, want to double check that you’re not about to throw napkins in there?” He asked, lingering around so he could watch Jake walk to the same dryer that definitely left a bruise on Dirk’s hip. Jake looked over his shoulder, then lingered back at the basket, then back at Dirk with a bashful laugh. “No, no dinner napkins. No anything, actually. Um, if you were genuine in your offer, I’d love to take it up. You know, if you would be so kind.”

Dirk picked his basket back up, walking himself over to Jake with dryer sheets in one hand. “Knock yourself out. Blow your nose with them if you need to.” He said, sliding the box across the top of a dryer to Jake.

“Ah, are you sure? I only need one or two- or um,” Jake looked at another machine that was going, an hour away from being done.

“Yeah, it’s chill. It was like, five bucks. Just bring them up to me later, I live up on 703.” He walked back a step or two to the door, voice with a tone of finality in the decision.

“Golly, why is everyone being so nice to me today? You would think I were dying.” Jake said, picking the box up in his hand, some relief when he found they weren’t lavender scented like other borrowed products. “Will do, mate! I’ll make sure you won’t miss it the next time you need it, can take my word on that one.” He did a little finger gun at Dirk, giving him a wink that made Dirk more hopeful than it probably should have. He didn’t even know what he was hoping for yet, but what he did know was to expect Jake English at his door some time.

“See you whenever.” Dirk was finally able to tear his eyes away from Jake, tossing up his hand in a nonchalant parting wave. Now back out into the world he went, with clean clothes under one arm and anticipation in his stomach.

He hoped whenever came soon. 


	2. Peach Soda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :;3c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its ya boy Bitch Tits here w/ another installment

“So did you fuck the dryer with the boner Thick Supreme gave you?”

“Oh my _god_. I regret telling you _anything_.” Dirk groaned, sliding his hands up under his shades to cover his face up. He fell back on his couch, leg kicking over the arm rest. Roxy just laughed at him, like she had during the whole rendition of his story he decided to share with her (for some reason.) He had a habit of oversharing with her. Something he might start considering a bad habit.

It’d been a few hours since he encountered Jake in the laundry room, and Dirk still wasn’t over any of what had happened. From the dull pain in his hip to the nerves that fluttered from his stomach to his fingertips. The cooldown was gradual, but not as fast as he wanted it to be, which only caused for the flutter in his chest to start back up again in recalling the event that was his meeting with Jake English. Roxy had invited herself over around an hour ago, and Dirk hadn’t make it a habit to close his door to her.

She was able to pick apart that something was on his mind with less difficulty than he would’ve liked. He knew she’d later refer to him as being in ‘a mood’. While not untrue, it was something Dirk had a distaste for. He didn’t like being this moody.

“Don’t be so dramatic! Aw, who am I kiddin’, look who I’m talking to.” She reached over from her seat on the lazy boy, shoving Dirk’s foot. He half-heartedly tried to kick her hand away, blindly swinging his foot to gloriously completely missing the mark. “Yeesh. ‘Ey you were the one that was all like, ‘Oh, Roxy, you could revolve a planet around that ass!’” That evoked another annoyed groan from Dirk, who turned over in the couch, shades pressing up against a throe pillow she insisted he keep on the couch for some damn reason. It pressed into the bridge of his nose awkwardly, adding a physical toll to his bitching.

“God, what is with me? People don’t actually act like this, right? It’s just me? It’s just me.” He sat himself up, not wanting to physically and verbally wallow. One or the other, man, one or the other.

“Dirky, my boy, you beautiful enigma of a man, lemme just tell you two things, m’alright? One, you’re not _that_ special, come on, if you’re not exaggerating the scale this guy was on then I’m sure people are always tripping over themselves in his hotness and he just thinks the worlds a little clumsier than it actually is. And duce, thank god you weren’t driving when you saw him, woooooo, dick would’ve gotten shattered on the wind shield.” She said, fanning herself off. And even at his expense, it was funny. Just a little.

“I still can’t tell if I love or hate you.” He pushed his shades up his forehead, glancing at Roxy with freshly exposed eyes, ones that held amusement. She took that as an invitation, transferring herself from the lazy boy to the couch Dirk was on, sitting herself down beside him.

“I think you love me.” She said, throwing an arm around him. “And that you’re all torn up about your crush seeing you get fucked up by a dryer.” She pinched his cheek for all of a second before Dirk gruffly waved her hand away.

“I don’t have a crush. I’m an adult, Roxy, I don’t _get_ crushes anymore. I’m not in high school anymore, I’m not shoving notes into guy’s lockers, picking out gaudy blue suits for homecoming or fumbling boners into the waist band of my briefs. I think it’s perfectly acceptable to mourn the fact I made an ass of myself in front of an incomprehensibly attractive man without warranting the juvenile title of a crush.” Dirk expressed his particular grievances with the title, not wanting to be associated with the version of himself he was in high school, when he would use the word crush (a little too strongly and often), despite being tied to the same body and same experiences. Nothing about it was a particularly fond moment in Dirk’s life. From his home life to the messes he made himself as an emotionally and socially stunted teenager, it pained him to remember Roxy had seen him through all his regrets and working as a second pair of eyes upon all his mistakes.

Yet despite it all she was still here, wide smiles and poking fun at him like she always had.

“Okay?? Then what, your _infatuation??_ What a big boy word.” She said, doing jazz hands just to prove the absurdity of it all. He side eyed her with sagged shoulders, lip pursed. “Was he short?” She asked, and Dirk felt as if he’d been struck with the accuracy of her guess.

“What does his height have to do with anything?” Dirk shot back.

“Quit being a purposefully obtuse ass. I know you like shorter guys- the only taller guy you dated was a complete bag of dicks, so if he isn’t shorter than you I’m not taking it as a positive sign. Dark hair? Did he look like the kinda guy you’d wanna bring back home to your mom, too? Or in this case, me, your stand in mom. If he can’t do his own laundry like you said then that ain’t earning him no brownie points no time soon, I’ll tell ya what.” She alleged, crossing her arms as if she were an authority.

“Roxy, seriously, come on. He was just trying to get his shit done like the rest of us. And you can’t even say that when we both know Callie does all your laundry.” He reminded her, looking right at her as she looked away, clearly guilty. “Besides,” Dirk leaned back into the couch again, tilting his head up toward the ceiling. “I feel like an asshole.” He admitted, letting one of the things that had truly been weighing on his mind slip out into the world, an irretrievable piece of knowledge he’d just shared with Roxy, a thought he’d now solidified as a burden by putting it into words. His brows knitted in frustration. “He probably would’ve felt way different about talking to me had he caught me eyeing him up. A conversation under false pretenses, assuming I hadn’t been a huge tool practically from the get go. Who wants to be checked out when they’re doing their fucking laundry? I would’ve decked a guy if he tried to pull something while I gotta worry if separate lights and darks was a myth I’d abide by that day or not.”

“It’s not, ya know.” She chimed in.

“Not my point.”

“Yeah, duh, but still.”

“Dude.” Dirk glanced back at her.

“What do you want me to tell you, Dirk?” She asked. “You tell yourself one thing but do a different thing then get all pretentious on yourself -acting like that isn’t one of the calling cards of human behavior- like you’re doing right now!” She pointed out, papping his upper arm. “And now you got this totally cute guy on your radar and all your dials are flipped to 11 when you didn’t even do anything that weird.” Roxy tried to be reassuring but blunt, keeping her eyes set on Dirk so she wouldn’t fall flat on trying to get through to him. “You can do it, yaknow, live amongst us normies and admit you’re just nervous at a pretty face. Feelings aren’t some exclusive higher thought thing. Don’t play it off like because you can’t wing being human on the hypothetical you’re obviously this subpar dick. Who knows! Maybe he thinks he was the laundry room weirdo to you, and you’re this smokin’ hot blond bombshell tall glass o’ gimme some of that struttin’ on in and fucking a dryer up. And he’s like, whoa, holy shit, fuckin’ 6’3” square jaw dumb glasses BABE all up in da washers with some nice big ass pec tiddie. I bet he wishes he was that dryer you fuckin manhandled.” She even did a little pelvic thrust, just to prove her point.

“You’re classy.” Dirk said sarcastically.

“Classy yourself, dryer fucker. And that’s not my point! You gotta calm down, Dirk, nothing all that intense even happened between you two. Nothing to warrant this heavy shit you’ve been telling yourself.” She huffed, crossing her arms as she watched Dirk avoid eye contact, head somewhat turned in her direction like he could fake it. Too bad for him those shades weren’t in the right place to block out his poor aversion attempt. “Come on, work with me here. He’s gonna pop up again some time, right? Bringing back your sheets or something? You gotta be in the now when that happens and not all up and rolling the ball up an unwinnable hill. What was his name again?” She asked, trying to probe him into talking again.

Dirk sighed through his nose, leaning forward again, elbows to his knees. “Jake.” He caved. “It was Jake.”

“Psssht, of course it was a Jake. It’s like Aphrodite names any guy coming straight from her lady business Jake and lets him run out into the world turning heads and giving gay guys a crisis.” She said, much to Dirk’s discomfort. He gave her a pointed look over his shades, brows frowned in agitation. “Aaaaaah, sorry, sorry, got a slip up there. I know we’re not making that a thing.” She said, awkwardly trying to back track on her words. Roxy paused for a moment, clearing her throat. “But you know what I mean, right? With the Jakes?” Her words came out a little less rapid at this point, trying to smooth her way back on track after that touchy subject. “Hot on some ethereal level. Like, there’s this guy that joined the DnD club at the comic book shop a few weeks back, his name is Jake! And I deadass watched a guy ride his bike into a mailbox because he was too fine for just a glance.” That seemed to be an amusing enough misfortune to earn a little quirk of Dirk’s lip, the closest thing to laughter she’d get from him in the moment being. It was something like an olive branch, opening them up to lighter conversation away from old awakened anxieties and discomfort.

“That would’ve been me, just not eco conscious enough to be on a bike. And with an uncanny amount of attractive men tied to what should be such a common name. Wouldn’t be surprised if your Aphrodite theory got unearthed in lost text sometime soon. And before you ask, no, that isn’t already a thing. Not that I’m aware of.” He slid his shades back down his forehead, fingers brushing through his hair to pull the locks caught between his eyes and shades, smoothing it back and letting it fall back down naturally. The only part of his hair he was a bit less meticulous about. His attempt to put himself together in general.

“Do you think there’s more than one Roxy out there tryna pacify her bestie in his budding boy crush?” She asked.

“I couldn’t imagine conditions of either of our lives aligning in such a way to produce a second someone like you, let alone those threads of circumstance braiding themselves together in what is this bond we got right here. This bond of bros I’ve become fond of over any other. This Brond.” He said, rolling his hand in the space between the two of them, gesturing to one another.

He prided himself in the way that drew a smile out of Roxy.

“Aw, ya big lug.” She said, opening her arms, leaning in to Dirk.

“Yeah, come here.” Dirk wrapped his arms around her, easy able to envelope her in his hold. He gave Roxy a firm squeeze. He could feel the way her cheek pressed against his chest with how she grinned.

“You’re a sweetie, you know that?” Roxy pipped up.

“Nah.” Dirk disagreed, giving her back a pap before going to pull away, looking down at someone he could admittedly call his best friend. “I just like you. Can’t blame a guy, right?”

“Noooo, shut up, you’re a goddang delight, and an actual teddy bear.” Roxy insisted, giving him a little shove.

“I’ll have to respectfully disagree with you there.” Dirk said, pulling himself up to his feet. “How about you pull up Netflix, I’m gonna get something to drink. Want anything?” He asked, walking around her to get to the kitchen.

“Don’t you subject change on me! You’ll respectfully be wrong! Suck it up like a big boy and admit you’re a legitimate sweet tart.” What a persistent girl, that Roxy.

“Nah.” Dirk repeated, rounding the corner to get into the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of soda from the pantry, still idly listening to Roxy. He had settled with himself that as long as he didn’t give Roxy a reaction, she’d stop eventually. Dirk was sure whatever she said wouldn’t be particularly new and ground breaking, not after he’d spilled all the beans to her. Now the can lay empty. “Peach soda, right?” He asked, only to be promptly ignored as Roxy steam rolled ahead.

“And, ya know, if you don’t start literally malfunctioning at the sight of Jake’s ass again, you could use it to romance him? And he’ll be all like, ‘Oh, Strider! Macho man of my heart! Take me into your USDA approved prime beef arms and never release me!’ And my Jake would throw out like, gadzooks or, like, I even got a shucks buster from him! Hah, haven’t heard that one in a while.” Dirk’s hand steadied half way to the glasses, stalling the noises made bustling around the kitchen to listen closer. Dirk was just processing how uncanny that was before Roxy delivered the final blow. “He was all ‘egad! A 20!’”

As coincidences fell like puzzle pieces in Dirk’s mind, soda was suddenly a lot less interesting. It all clicked into place at once, provoking Dirk’s insistent need for confirmation effective immediately. Dirk didn’t even stop to put the bottle down, whipping his head around the corner the same second it all processed.

 Roxy jumped, a hand flying to her chest in surprise- never really getting used to how fast Dirk was.

“Where are you getting all of this from?” He questioned. She took his surprise as disbelief at the sheer concept of someone speaking like that in this day and age. Roxy knew it took her some getting used to, and Dirk wasn’t one to go without an overreaction here and there. “Well I modeled one Jake after the only Jake I know! They’re all hot so maybe they’re all goofy. And how DnD Jake is a total fuckin goof ball. I just tried to sound spicy!”

That was far _too_ convenient.

“No, no you’re fucking with me.” Dirk assumed, squinting at Roxy.

“I’m not! That’s actually how he talks, I could not make it up, I don’t got that vocabulary.” Roxy said defensively

“You got to be fucking with me.” Dirk said, determined on the fact. “Did you meet him down in the laundry room? Was that you that lent out that detergent?”

“Dude!” Roxy said, hands raised. “This isn’t a conspiracy, chillax!”

This was more bickering than problem solving, Dirk realized. But right as he was starting to believe her on this mix up and further his game of connect the dots, a loud interjecting knock sounded at his door, putting everything to a stop before they could get anywhere nearly constructive.

“Um. Strider? Are you present? If you’re in the company of a lady I can make my return at a different time, wouldn’t want my company to be indecent.” Jake’s voice carried itself from the other side of the door and right through the uncertain air Dirk has formed around himself.

“Wait, Jake??” Roxy called back, bolting off of the couch and to the door. She swung the door open without as much as a second thought, standing in front of a mutually known Jake English. One who was more appropriately dressed and held a box of dryer sheets with both hands. Dirk seemed to watch in slow motion as Jake’s eyebrows shot up, the anxiety his expression carried shifting to one of familiarity.

“Roxy! Me oh my! I didn’t expect to see you here!”


End file.
